


Literally

by longwhitecoats



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Competition, Consensual Sex, Dick Jokes, Dirty Talk, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, For Science!, Group Sex, Happy, M/M, Multi, Penis Measuring, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Strap-Ons, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You do understand that they're not literally comparing them, right, soldier?"</p><p>Steve's mouth quirks up in amusement. He nods. And that would've been the end of it, except that Bruce says, in his I'm a Nice Reasonable Scientist voice, "Well, we could, I suppose."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Literally

Steve is just toweling off his hair as he walks into the den, where the rest of the team is sprawled post-coitally on the couch, just as Natasha says a little too loudly, "Can you two go _five minutes_ without a dick-measuring contest?"  
  
He looks up, confused. Bruce has his face in his hands, a blush rising on his cheeks; like Steve, he always insists on showering after, and his newly shampooed hair is sticking up in wild curlicues. Thor is sprawled over Natasha's lap, naked except for a clothing item that he calls a _kjalta_ but which looks to Steve exactly like a regular kilt, and Natasha is braiding his hair, or was, until a second ago. She and Clint are in their gym sweats; Tony, because he likes to bask in his own smug afterglow for as long as possible after they all have sex, is wearing nothing at all. Nothing, that is, except for a petulant frown, which he is directing at Clint. The feeling appears to be mutual.  
  
"He started it," Tony says, just as Clint begins, "Just because you can't admit I'm better at _one single thing_ \--" and Steve coughs, and they turn around. Steve sees Natasha's eyes flick over him once; he's still not used to her doing that. He can never tell if it's appraising his attractiveness or his battle-readiness.  
  
The towel gives him something to do with his hands. He folds it over a nearby chair and says, "Uh, sorry." He's not sure how to say this, but Tony did tell him he ought to ask questions if he doesn't understand their slang. "I just, um, what's a dick-measuring contest?"  
  
Clint busts out laughing, all tension gone, and Tony is already in the middle of explaining, "--twentieth-century colloquialism, and I would've thought you Brooklyn boys did this kind of thing? Okay, maybe not. Essentially--"  
  
"They are comparing their manhoods," Thor says in his low rumble, "in both senses of the word."  
  
Tony shuts up for a good seven seconds. "That about covers it, yeah," he says. He leans across the couch. "Good one, buddy." He and Thor high-five. Bruce snorts and smiles.  
  
Natasha rolls her eyes. "It covers most of what goes on in this house, I'd say." Then she gives him a sharp look. "You do understand that they're not _literally_ comparing them, right, soldier?"  
  
Steve's mouth quirks up in amusement. He nods. And that would've been the end of it, except that Bruce says, in his I'm a Nice Reasonable Scientist voice, "Well, we could, I suppose."

There’s a pause. Steve’s a little relieved that everyone else seems taken aback, too. Orgies he can handle—they had those back in the forties, too, even if he didn’t go near one—and he’s no blushing flower, nor a stranger to getting frisky with your brothers in arms, whatever the press says about their All-American golden boy. Still, sometimes it seems like an awful lot of sexual technology got invented after he went into the ice.  
  
“Could what, exactly, Dr. Banner?” Tony says, picking up his StarkPad. Steve’s pretty sure he’s about to make a dash for his workshop equipment.

“Well,” Bruce says, warming to the subject, “we’d need to compensate for variances in temperature sensitivity, arousal, and other enviromental factors, obviously, but given an appropriately controlled setting—“

“—Right, sure, except that in our enlightened day and age we can actually decide _which_ of the factors the layman typically labels ‘size’ we’re interested in measuring, so why limit ourselves?” Tony’s punching things into the StarkPad now, and Bruce has climbed up on the arm of the couch to look over his shoulder.

“Oh, sure, with the flow of circulation—“

“Uh huh, and look at the respiratory factor.”

“Remarkable. These are S.H.I.E.L.D. files?”

“These are my own personal records, obviously, how dare you compare me to those hacks.”

“Can you enlarge—“

“Hold it.” Steve says. “Are you proposing that we actually measure our penises?”

Natasha coughs, poorly hiding a laughing fit. Thor blinks at him. The others are grinning.

Steve grins back. “I’m up for it. I just want to make sure we’re all comfortable participating. A guy could feel sensitive about this kind of thing, after all,” and he blushes a little, though he doesn’t know why.

They all look around. Thor puts up his hand.

“Your feelings are of the utmost importance to me,” he says, his face grave. “I would not wish to shame any of you mortals.”

Clint narrows his eyes. “Thor, you sassy motherfucker, was that _sarcasm_?”

Thor throws his arms open wide and grins. “Indeed it was, my friend!” He sits up and thumps Clint in the chest. “I am in fact most anxious to lay my own manhood alongside yours in valiant combat!”

“Uh, let’s save the swordfighting, buddy,” Tony says, still punching buttons on the StarkPad. “All right, Bruce and I can come up with fair, uh, _combat_ conditions if someone else is willing to be on snack duty—Clint, my man, I knew I could count on you,” he says, giving a thumbs-up to the air as Clint begins scrounging around the room for the menu to their favorite takeout place. “Steve, you have more honor than the rest of us combined and you have an entirely frightening memory for pointless rules, so it’s your thankless task to be participant-referee. That’s what you get for being a Dodgers fan, my friend,” he adds, stopping the objection even as Steve is forming it. They’ve had more pillowfights over baseball rules than Steve can count.

“It’s not my fault you still have the bad taste to like the Yankees. Who cheat, by the way.”  
  
“Rules are for people without imagination. And Miss Romanoff, since you won’t be competing, you can have the _enormous_ privilege of judging this glorious tournament.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow in a way that sends a shudder of frightened arousal through Steve. “Who says I’m not competing?”

Both of Tony’s eyebrows go up at that, and Bruce looks up at Steve and mouths, _Wooow_. Then Tony shrugs. “We’re an equal opportunity competition. I expect you to bring your A-game, Romanoff.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Stark,” she says, making a swift exit toward her rooms in the tower.  
  
“Mechanical enhancements going to ruin our design?” Bruce says, looking distinctly sweaty.

“Bruce, never say that sentence to me again. Look, I just make adjustments here and here... and presto. All right, we’re gold. We do, however, need _someone_ to judge this thing.”  
  
“Look, surely the judge should be the one of us who’s the most objective, level-headed, and capable of dealing with ridiculous bullshit,” Clint says from under the side table.

Everybody collectively turns around to the back of the room and looks at Pepper, who's been sitting quietly in her armchair, reading this week's _Economist_.  
  
Pepper sighs.  
  
“All right,” she says, putting down the magazine and padding over to them in her lavender _yukata_. Steve can’t help staring longingly, even though not thirty minutes ago he was embracing her. She’s a hell of a dame. “I demand several martinis if I’m going to do this, though.”  
  
“On it, babe,” Tony says, punching things even more urgently into his StarkPad and going over to the bar. Clint smirks at Pepper as she walks by him.  
  
“Welcome to the party,” he says, standing and flicking open his phone, menu in hand. “I didn’t know you were a size queen, Miss Potts.”  
  
“I’m not, as it happens, unless we’re talking about egos,” she returns, batting her eyelashes, and Steve chokes, sputters, and then laughs fit to burst.  
  
“Steve?” Bruce says, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Sorry,” he says, feeling a little pleased that he’s put two and two together, “I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s only that I just figured out why Tony’s ringtone for Pepper is that great Beyoncé song.”  
  
“Oh?” Pepper says, making her _What did he do now?_ face, but then Tony hands her a beautifully dirty martini in a highball glass, saying, “Just like Jarvis said you like them,” and she smiles, and she sips.

Clint puts a hand over the phone. “Three plates of egg rolls or two?”

“Three!” Thor bellows. “And several of those breaded fowl!”

“And two baskets of chicken fingers,” Clint says into the line. “Yup. Uh huh. Just use the card on file.”

“You’re lucky I’m a billionaire,” Tony calls. Steve walks over to him and puts his arms around Tony’s waist, leaning Tony into him while Tony types away. Somehow, it never gets old that he’s allowed to do that.

“You’d spend your dough on chicken fingers anyway,” he whispers, and he feels rather than sees Tony’s smile.

By the time Natasha’s back, the food has arrived, and Bruce and Tony seem to be putting the finishing touches on their... whatever it is. Steve makes a couple trips in the meanwhile to the nearby linen closet for some extra towels and sheets, and then, considering that one thing very often leads to another, and that they used up a lot of Tony’s stuff earlier that afternoon, he swings by his room for his personal chest of safer sex supplies.

It only takes a few minutes for Steve to lead them through the pre-game, which includes reminders of everybody’s triggers, directions to fire exits (Bruce hasn’t ever Hulked in the middle of anything, but better safe than sorry), a run-down of the safe sex supplies and sex toys available, and, in this case, confirmation that everyone is okay with Pepper having a few drinks. Tony drums his fingers on the armrest through the whole thing, and Natasha puts on her Mission Briefing Face, which is frankly terrifying. Bruce just stares at him with a goofy grin that makes Steve rub the back of his neck self-consciously and feel a soft warmth in his chest. One of Steve’s favorite parts of twenty-first century sex, now that he’s gotten used to the lingo, is aftercare, especially with Bruce. Sometimes they stay up late snuggling and talking about how their bodies feel, after, about how strange and frightening it can be to let other people look at their bodies and touch them.

Tony likes to tell Steve that he has a lot of feelings. Steve is willing to concede the point, mostly because Tony is actually really good at talking about his own feelings when it matters.

“Safeword?” Clint says.

“Uh, is there any reason to use a different one from the usual?”

Clint shrugs. “Nah. Just wanted to confirm.”

“Then it’s the same one as always: ‘Nick Fury.’ I think that covers it. Over to you,” Steve says, nodding to Bruce and Tony and the frighteningly complex holographic instrumentation they’ve set up over the coffee table.

As the fearsome science duo lay out plastic sheeting on the table and everyone else settles in on the couch, Pepper leans over and whispers to Steve, “I wasn’t here the first time all of you chose that safeword, was I?”

Steve shakes his head. “I think you were at a conference.”

“Mmm,” she says, giving him a cryptic smile and sipping her martini. “Oh look, the boys are ready.”

Tony grins. “Okay, everybody, this is a simple two-tier competition, with the highest average score of the two rounds declared the winner. The initial round will be a strict measurement test—“ Steve sets his jaw. “Hold your horses, Mister Fair Play, we’ve thought this through. Bruce and I will use this baby here to take your measurements, gentlemen. And lady.” Tony raises his hand, and the holographic image enlarges, radiating charts and formulae and blinking lights that Steve doesn’t understand even a little. Bruce puts his hand in the lower section of the hologram to demonstrate, and the charts light up with colors and statistics.

“How delightful!” Thor says. “I would have used a length of plain rope. This is far more festive!”

“Thor, I’m taking you with me to my next tech conference. Okay, everybody see how this works? You just put whatever you’re measuring in here—“ he points at Bruce’s arm. Bruce wiggles his fingers. “—and you get readouts on length, average circumference, blood flow, and tissue mass, averaged together in one tidy score.” He pokes another part of the hologram and a white holographic card pops up that reads **9.2**. “Nice forearm, Bruce.” Bruce coughs and withdraws it.  “The second round is also judged out of ten, with the score supplied by the lovely Miss Potts here.”

Pepper looks up at him. “I’m not doing this inside a hologram.”

“Well, I intended for you to give your very official scores to our contestants verbally,” Tony says, a teasing edge creeping into his voice, “but we can always make alternate arrangements if you think you might be unable to speak.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says primly.

“Good, okay,” Tony says. “Just one thing, though.”

“We figured the real purpose of a dick-measuring contest isn’t to determine size,” Bruce says, and man, hearing Bruce say that _word_ sends a jolt right through Steve. “It’s to determine whose is _better_. And that can only be subjectively measured.”

“So,” Tony says, “in the second round of the competition, our contestants will put their dicks to Pepper’s favorite use. Whatever she might decide that is.” He opens his hands, palms up, as if he has no idea what it could be.

Pepper’s cheeks are turning a very attractive shade of pink, and she’s gripping Steve’s hand tightly. She doesn’t look at him, though. He watches the expression on her face go from embarrassed to wicked as she says, “You know what it is, Tony.”

“Maybe,” Tony says, fiddling with his hologram. “Don’t be shy, Pep.”

She does look at Steve then, and he tries to look encouraging. He’s not sure if that means he should try to hide how turned on he is or not, but it seems to be okay, because Pepper turns back to Tony and says, “Well, then I guess everyone is going to have to fuck me.”

Natasha makes a tiny, inarticulate noise of obvious arousal. Steve agrees. It’s not that they haven’t done this before, exactly. But there’s something different about each of them making love to Pepper alone, or in the middle of an orgy, than there is about having all of them _take_ her one after another. It feels—Steve can’t come up with another word for it besides _kinky_. He’s hot all over.

“This is an excellent competition, my friends!” Thor says. “Let us begin immediately.”

“Round one!” Tony announces, a bright gleam in his eyes. “Who’s first?”

“I’ll go,” Natasha says, surprising Steve. “Give the equipment a good test.” She gives a couple pats to something in her lap, and then Steve sees that she’s holding a strap-on that looks like it could take out a city block.

“That’s... sizeable,” Pepper says, looking worried.

Natasha’s mouth twitches. “Don’t worry,” she says, lifting the end up. “It’s not all for you.” And right in front of all of them, she drops her terrycloth robe, opens her legs, and slowly inserts about half of it into her own cunt with a long and satisfied sigh. A joint in the middle tips the rest of it outward like a regular strap-on. Natasha runs her hands up and down it as if to pleasure herself. Steve whistles.

“Now that we’re settled,” she says, and she kneels by the coffee table, where Bruce and Tony are lining up the hologram to meet her silicone cock.

“Excellent,” Tony says. The image dings and a card pops up: **6.3**. “Very nice. Next?”

“I’m ready,” Steve says. And he certainly is. Natasha’s hands on her own cock isn’t an image he’s likely to forget anytime soon.

“All right then, Cap, bring it on. And the rest of you, get prepared.” Tony smirks. “Not that any of us’ll have trouble after watching all this.” He looks at Steve hungrily and says, “Make me proud.” Steve gulps.

He strips quickly, not bothering to fold his clothes the way he usually does, and takes himself in hand. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him; he’d thought it would make him embarrassed, but now that he’s kneeling there, prick in hand, he feels something like pride. He _wants_ to make Tony proud. He wants to show how good he can be. It’s a silly feeling, maybe, but this is a safe place to be silly. From the way the others are looking at him, anyway, it seems like they’re taking his efforts seriously.

There’s a ding. Tony groans just a little and looks Steve up and down. “Eight point five. God bless America.”

Clint follows with a very respectable 7.4, and Tony turns up a 6.6. “Just wait until round two,” he says, seeming not at all worried that he’ll lose the overall game. Steve finds himself grinning at Tony’s cockiness. He likes it, this good-natured competition. He feels on point, his mind clear and crisp the way it is before a fight, his body alive and prepared for action.

“I don’t know about that. You have some stiff competition, Stark,” he retorts, and Pepper giggles into her martini.

“That was _terrible_ , Steve,” she says, practically glowing.

Bruce comes in at 7.0 even. Thor, who unbelts his _kjalta_ with great ceremony before hefting his prick onto the table, racks up a jaw-dropping 9.4.

“That’s two-tenths of a point more than my _forearm_ ,” Bruce says in disbelief.

Pepper lifts her glass. “I’d like another martini, please, Tony.”

Steve pats her on the shoulder.

“So now that we’re all naked,” Natasha says, her voice dipping into a sultry register, “is it time for round two?”

“That’s up to our venerable judge,” Tony says, returning with the drink, which Pepper knocks back half of in one go. “Man, I always forget you were in a sorority in college.”

“Don’t start,” she says, though she follows this by downing the other half with equal grace, which Steve supposes proves Tony’s point. “All right,” she says. “The only way to make this fair is if I don’t know who’s who, don’t you think?”

Steve opens up his supply chest and pulls out a black silk blindford. “Shall I do the honors?”

“Yes, please,” Pepper says, turning her back to him on the couch and lifting her long hair with her hands. Steve is gentle and careful with the blindfold, trying not to tangle it in her hair; he knows how tough she is, how much she can take, but somehow she always looks so delicate.

“How’s that?”

She tests it, feels the tightness of the band. “Fine. Would you help me lean back, please?”

Steve takes her hand, leaning her back into the sofa. Pepper unties the belt of her _yukata_ and opens it, revealing her pale skin. She’s entirely naked. As she spreads her legs and slips her fingers down between them, Tony growls, “ _Damn_ , Pepper.”

She’s smiling beneath the blindfold. “Two additional rules,” she says. “One: no other physical contact. That means no hands, no kisses, nothing but your dick.”

“That’s my girl,” Tony says. “She does science right.”

“Two,” she goes on. “You have precisely two minutes each. I assume someone can keep time.” Bruce types something into the StarkPad. “The judge is ready for the first contestant.”

They look at each other, not wanting to break the silence and give away who’s it.  Then Thor stands quietly and walks over in front of Pepper, where he kneels. Steve hands him two bottles of lube and a condom. He looks at the lube meaningfully.

Thor gives him a thumbs-up and goes to work. He rolls the condom on and then runs both his hands ( _both_ his hands, lord have mercy) down the length of his cock, slicking it until it’s glossy. Steve feels something that’s not quite jealousy, watching him; he’s impressed and nervous, excited to see what Thor will do, but also quietly hoping that he won’t be quite as good at this as Steve is.

When Thor enters her, Pepper cries out, and Steve can see immediately that this is going to be hard for her to take. He tries to remember if Thor and Pepper have done this before. He’s not sure. Thor’s gentle, moving slowly; his brow is furrowed, and Steve is glad to see that he’s obviously taking great care to pay attention to the noises Pepper is making, trying to stay on the good side of the sensation, intense though it must be. When the buzzer goes off, Pepper sighs as Thor pulls out of her, and she absently draws her hands down over her belly.

“That was nice,” she says. “I’d give that a seven out of ten. Thank you, Thor.”

“You are welcome,” Thor booms, and he leans over and kisses Pepper’s stomach, looking pleased.

“Hard act to follow,” Tony mutters, but Steve isn’t so sure. He looks and Tony and makes the _hold back_ gesture he uses in the field, which Tony acquiesces to, but which makes Clint double over in exaggerated, silent laughter. Steve rolls his eyes. _I’ll go_ , he mouths, and before anyone else can make fun, he gets himself ready and kneels in front of Pepper.

She’s languid, sweaty, the smell of her sex heavy on the air. Steve wishes he were allowed to use his hands; she loves his hands, has told him so many times, but maybe that’s why she outlawed it—to stop him from having an advantage. Steve pushes into her gently. She looks surprised at first, and flushes, and he tries to imagine what it must be like to be lying there blindfolded, not knowing when someone will be suddenly inside you. He shudders with pleasure at the thought, and the shiver runs seemingly all the way through him and into Pepper, because she begins to shake as he screws her, vibrating against him and panting. He keeps his pace slow, letting his hips do most of the work, trying to feel when she’s getting tense and to match the pace of her body. He’s conscious of being watched, of putting on a show for all of them. _See what I can do for her?_ he feels like saying. _Bet you can’t do better._ He screws her like it’s a challenge to the others, and he loves every second; though it wrecks his concentration on her just a little, and when the buzzer goes off, he doesn’t really feel like he’s done his best. He stops. But then she says, “Oh, Steve,” when he leaves her, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

“How’d you know it was me?” he says, putting a hand on her knee and squeezing.

“I just know,” she says, her voice fond, and then adds, “Score that eight out of ten, please, boys,” and Steve can’t help the bloom of happiness in his stomach.

Clint goes next, kissing Natasha on the cheek first with the air of a boxer shaking hands before a match. When he goes to Pepper, it’s like his entire field of vision narrows to a single point. It’s stunning to watch. His concentration is absolute. Steve has no doubt that Clint is aware of his surroundings even so—you’d sooner sneak up on a military installation than on Clint—but every muscle and line of his body is bent on Pepper, his single-mindedness obvious.

This time, Pepper is moaning out loud, digging her fingernails into the couch and rocking her hips along with Clint’s. His thrusts are precise, and Steve suspects he’s hitting the sweet spot with every stroke. Steve can’t help being admiring and jealous at the same time. Clint’s cock is unusual; it has a slight bend upward, making it ideal for certain positions of which Steve has grown fond. It’s also a tactical advantage, since as Steve well knows, Pepper has the gift of being able to come from this alone, but only if the angle is just right. Just before the buzzer sounds, Pepper gives a long cry and curls up over her belly. Steve can practically feel the orgasm from where he’s sitting; Thor, who’s been stroking himself as he watches, looks like he’s about ready to go off, too.

Clint’s eyes don’t leave Pepper’s face until she says, “Nine out of ten. My god,” and reaches blindly for Clint’s hand. “Thank you, Clint,” she says, panting.

“My pleasure,” he says, flashing his teeth at Tony, who registers the look with a little more than a glance. He’s watching Pepper intently, clearly enjoying seeing everyone give their all to please her. But he doesn’t move. Steve looks at Bruce. Bruce shrugs, and when he comes over to Steve to collect his supplies, he kisses Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s back and pressing his chest against him. The suddenness of it makes Steve gasp, and Bruce smiles, and he rolls a condom onto his cock.

If Clint’s technique was about self-control, Steve reckons, Bruce’s is about controlling Pepper. He enters her all at once, his face set, and he gets going just fast enough to have her moaning and starting to curl her toes before he backs off into a slower pace. He waits for her then, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world, the muscles standing out in his thighs. Steve can see how desperate Pepper’s getting, and finally she says, “Bruce, _please_ ,” and he laughs coldly, and then he begins fucking her in earnest. It’s tense, it’s so very hot, and Steve makes an involuntary noise when the buzzer goes off, not wanting it to stop.

“God, you’re good at what you do,” Pepper says.

“That new set of cuffs just arrived, by the way,” Bruce says, as if it were a non-sequitur, and Pepper bites her bottom lip. “No pressure. It’s a standing invitation.”

Steve knows how she feels. “I’m sure I could put those to good use,” he says, embarrassed, hearing his voice come out husky. Bruce just chuckles and comes to sit beside him.

“Score?” Tony says.

“Another nine,” Pepper gasps. “Oh god, how many of you are left?”

“Just two,” Steve says. “You okay? You want some water?”

“I’m good, I’m _great_ ,” she says, “for the love of God don’t _stop_ ,” and Tony takes that as his cue.

It always amazes Steve to watch the two of them together. However talented the rest of them are, however attentive, they can’t match the raw passion Tony has, or the connection he shares with Pepper. Tony leans over her, bracing himself on his hands, and fucks Pepper with swift, fluid motions, his face an open book, full of possessiveness, love, and pride. Pepper is visibly restraining herself from wrapping her arms around him, burying her hands in the cushions by her head, but she seems to have lost control of her legs. She’s gripping Tony’s hips, pressing him even deeper into her, and murmuring incoherently, _Yes, Tony, yes, oh God, yes..._

She comes twice in a row, her whole body rocking up against Tony’s, and there’s a good ten seconds of silence before the buzzer goes off. Steve sees Tony softly ask a question to Pepper, and she nods, and he kisses her then, his palms on either side of her face, before getting up. “Nine and a half,” she says weakly, and he punches it in, looking a little wobbly.

“Hi,” Natasha says.

Pepper gives a little laugh. “I guess this anonymity thing is a wash.”

Natasha shrugs. “It was always going to be obvious which one was me anyway,” she says. She takes her time getting ready, slicking up her cock with so much lube that Steve is pretty sure Pepper can hear the sound of her doing it. She leans in over Pepper, just barely not touching her. “But please do leave the blindfold on, darling. It suits you.”

Pepper shudders.

“Cheater,” Tony whispers to Clint, who mutters, “You have no idea.”

“I don’t believe the rules said anything about staying silent,” Natasha says, and she presses into Pepper with the calm surety of a born winner.

“Fuck,” Bruce says. “She’s got this wrapped up.”

Steve can’t help but agree. Natasha is leveraging herself over Pepper as she thrusts, her lips just by Pepper’s ear, and Steve can only catch about half of what she’s saying— _pretty girl_ and _be good_ and _you like this, don’t you, all of us taking you, you’re so greedy for it_ , and soon Pepper is gasping and saying, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over, rutting herself against Natasha; and then, to Steve’s surprise, _Natasha_ comes instead of Pepper, letting loose a string of expletives as her whole body tightens, and that’s when Steve knows he’s watching victory, because Pepper is rocking up into Natasha’s orgasm, riding that pleasure into her own, and then she says, “Oh God, oh God,” and then she just screams the house down as she comes and the buzzer goes off.

Everyone else bursts into applause.

“Shut up, shut _up_ ,” Natasha says, but she’s grinning like mad, and Pepper starts giggling again. She pulls off the blindfold and throws her arms around Natasha, kissing her one, two, three times, and then she leans over and kisses Steve, too, and then she has to kiss everybody. Then everybody has to kiss everybody, because it feels weirdly like they all won something, and then the take-out suddenly smells really, _really_ good.

Clint dishes up egg rolls, poutine, sushi, and chicken fingers while Tony looks over the scores. “Pepper, I’m assuming that last score was a ten?” Tony says.

Pepper blushes. “It sure was.”

Natasha nudges Clint, who has an odd expression on his face. “What? You’re disappointed in something.”

Clint sighs. “You know, if you’d been judging, I could’ve made so many jokes about getting a five from the Russian judge.”

“If she’d been judging, we wouldn’t have seen that,” Bruce says quietly, and Thor, whose mouth is full of fried chicken, raises two thumbs-up in agreement.

“All right, folks, final standings,” Tony says, dismissing the hologram and lifting the StarkPad. “Ready?”

Pepper leans her head on Steve’s shoulder. “I swear he likes this part even better.”

Steve kisses the top of her head. “This is your doing. You’re the one who insisted he start taking conference presentations seriously.” Pepper groans.

“It was a _very_ close game,” Tony says. “Very close. Nothing to be ashamed of here. Sixth place and first place only three-tenths of a point apart. I’m sure there’s some statistical analysis to be done there—“

“Tony,” Bruce says, looking over his glasses.

“Right, okay. Me and Bruce are in fifth and sixth, respectively, with scores of eight point one and eight point oh.”

Pepper puts down her plate and claps politely. Bruce and Tony shake hands.

“In second place, at eight point two, we have a three-way tie: Clint, Thor, and—Natasha.”

Everyone else claps, except Steve. “But—surely—“

“...Which means that the winner of our little contest, with a score of eight point three, is none other than the defender of liberty, Steve Rogers!”

Everyone is clapping really hard now. Thor cheers, “Well done, my friend!” which only makes Steve turn bright red.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Me?”

“Yes, even you can beat me at things sometimes,” Tony says, clapping him on the shoulder. “What can I say? If somebody had asked me which of the Avengers would win a dick-measuring contest—“

“You would’ve said _you_ ,” Steve finishes for him. “And so would everyone else.” There are murmurs of agreement. Tony throws up his hands.

“I can’t help it if the whole world thinks I’m amazing. Which I am, by the way.”

“Tony, come sit here,” Pepper says, waving an egg roll at him. He does, and Pepper shuts him up by dropping bites of food into his mouth.

“Y’know,” Steve says, curling up against Bruce, “I guess I’m glad the slang changed.”

“Oh?” Clint says, looking up from his sushi. “What was it in ye olden times?”

“I don’t know if I should say,” Steve says.

Natasha gives him a look. “Now you _really_ have to.”

Everyone’s staring. Steve sighs. “Well,” he says, “in the army, we used to call it a pissing contest.”

Clint opens his mouth to say something, and before any noise can get out, Natasha stuffs it full of egg roll. Thor laughs, a belly laugh that carries up to the roof, and Steve just ducks his head under Bruce’s arm in embarrassment.

“Steve,” Bruce says, nibbling a french fry. “I think this is one time when it’s okay just to rest on your laurels.”

“Sure thing,” Steve says, and he reaches for the plate of sushi. “Winners get first dibs on showers, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "competition" square on my Kink Bingo card. Thank you so much to my betas J, M, and Quinn, especially for the encouragement to post this! I've been very nervous to enter my own writing into this fandom, because I love it so much, but this plot bunny ran away with me and I couldn't not write it. 
> 
> ...And yes, I did make a spreadsheet of their scores.


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